Dreaming of You
by Takada Saiko
Summary: Updated after a... six year hiatus? Something like that. A man appears looking just like and claiming to be Christine's father. Who is he and will he work his way between the Phantom and his angel? part of my series R&R pleaes
1. Default Chapter

**Chapter One: I Think, My Dear, We Have a Guest

* * *

**

Raoul de Chagny stumbled his way through the unfamiliar area of the upper workings of the opera house. He eyed the chandelier's mechanisms as he eased past them and to the wrap around balcony that was only wide enough for one man to stand. This had been the way Erik had told him to come if he 'wished to have the best view in the opera next to box five.'

The Phantom stood with his back to the Vicomte as the younger man entered. "Erik?"

The man in question turned, his mismatched eyes nearly sparkling with delight as he motioned his former foe forward. "Come closer. Look."

Raoul did as instructed and his eyes met the sight of the cast in rehearsal. Christine Daaè was center stage, her newly completed costume fanning out around her and her hair piled on top her head. Meg was off to one side, await her cue anxiously. When it came at the end of Christine's melody, she danced out, her face bright with the cheer of her life's work. "This is a wonderful spot!" he murmured, turning to the other man. "How did you find it?"

"Monsieur!" Erik tsked. "I built the place!"

"I forget," Raoul mumbled, a bit ashamed at his lack of memory. "Do you watch for here often?"

"Sometimes. When my box is not kept for me." A smirk seemed to creep to his twisted lips. "Though the managers have done quite well as of late to leave it open."

This caused the young Vicomte to grin, a laugh escaping his lips. "As well they should! Though one would almost think you've mellowed in the last two years. It took you six months to begin to come back?"

Erik stiffened at the innocent comment. "I was… recovering." He received an odd look from the smaller man and the Phantom heaved a sigh. "You think even I could escape the entire mob?"

Raoul's eyes widened in horror. "My word! What did they…?"

The Opera Ghost waved one gloved hand, dismissing the subject. "It doesn't matter. It was, as you said, two years ago. I've set up better alarms and better ways to run them out if they should ever come back." His eyes turned dark for a moment and the man melted into the Phantom. "They will not destroy my home again."

Silence erupted between the two when Raoul could find no words to sayand they turned their eyes down to the ballet girls who were dancing below, Meg in the lead. The music ended and the girls bowed out, signifying the end of that day's rehearsal. Madame Giry stepped forward, dismissing them, though she asked Christine to stay.

"I should go see Meg," Raoul murmured, turning toward the door.

"Yes, of course," the Phantom answered, distracted. His eyes were fixated on Christine who had approached the aging ballet mistress. They spoke in tones that could not be heard or understood from such a great distance, but Erik did see the man come from back stage. He vaguely noted that Raoul had slipped through the door and it had clicked closed behind him, but his senses were on the scene playing out below. He could not hear Christine's words, but he saw her gasp, stumbling away with wide eye. She let forth a small scream and sunk to the floor, trembling horribly.

Erik was flying down the passageways before he knew what he was doing. He passed Raoul in a flurry of black and red, finally reaching the secret door that led to the stage. He saw the man moving forward, Christine staring at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. Her lips trembled as she mumbled something inaudible.

"Christine!"

She turned, seeing her husband coming from the shadows. She reached a quivering hand out to him and he was at her side in an instant, pulling her to him protectively. He glared over her shoulder, eyes smoldering with unspoken rage that this man – whomever he was – had frightened his dearest Christine.

"Monsieur?" the man questioned.

"If she wishes you to stay away, you _will_ stay away," the Phantom hissed. "Or it will be your end."

"Erik," Christine whispered pleadingly. "Please… don't. It's not like that. He startled me, that's all. He…" She choked back a sob, her face pale as if she'd seen a ghost. After a moment of feeling her husband's loving presence enveloping her and his gentle, cool hand against her cheek, she smiled at him and stood. Still shaking, she whispered, "You're dead."

The man before them chuckled sadly. "My dearest girl, I'm so sorry… I never meant for it to be so long. My little Christine." He reached a hand out to her.

Fresh tears streamed down her face as she took it, falling into the man's embrace.

Erik watched this with wide eyes, forcing his jealous temper down. "Who do you think you are, sir?" he growled through clenched teeth.

Christine turned to him once again. "Erik, please!" A smile replaced the pleading look. "Erik, this is Gustave Daaè. My father."

* * *

A/N: This idea has been bothering me and I really shouldn't start something new while I'm about to leave for Florida on Thursday, but I just had to! Yes, I know Christine's father is dead, I mean, c'mon, I'm not THAT stupid, and I know if I didn't write that in that SOMEONE would be yelling at me for it. I still might get that. Anyway, That's the whole point. How on the earth is he back? Is it a real ghost? Is he a man? How is this going to effect everything? And who on earth does he show up 12 years after his "death"?

R&R

TS


	2. Down we plunge

**Chapter Two: Down we Plunge

* * *

**

"Father?" Erik gasped, mismatched eyes wide. "But he's… You said…"

"Sputter truly doesn't become you, Erik," Madame Giry said blandly.

Christine found herself giggling at this. "Papa… this is Erik. My husband."

It was Gustave's turn to go wide-eyed. "Husband?"

The secret door behind the stage was flung open and Raoul de Chagny came stumbling out. His eyes narrowed when he caught sight of Erik. "Next time you tell me of one of your passageways, I _will_ demand to know how to work the exit!" The Vicomte paused, eyes turning wide. "Monsieur… Daaè?"

"I do believe that I am getting that reaction quite a bit today," Gustave chuckled. "Raoul, how you've grown!"

"Perhaps you'd care to explain," Erik drawled, "just how you came to be 'dead' and then 'alive' once more?"

"If you are asking if I am a ghost then I can assure you not."

"Then what are you, prey tell?" the Phantom demanded.

"Erik! Please… Don't be rude!" his wife said, horrified.

"A simple question, my dear. I hardly see how someone is truly dead – you and I have both seen the grave – and then alive yet again. Hardly less than a work of God, I'd say."

"You may drop the sarcastic tone, Monsieur," Gustave said with a sigh. "I… would rather not go into the whole affair here and now."

"I'm sure you would not."

"Erik! That was uncalled for!" Christine hissed. "Papa, forgive him. I truly don't know what has gotten into him." She shot a glare in her husband's direction. "This is my father standing before us. My father in which I have long thought dead. I really don't _care _what the explanation is, just as long as it is. Please try to keep your sarcastic tongue in check."

Erik stared during her outburst and could find no breath to force the protest from his lips as she looped her arm through her father's and they walked to a pair of seats to discuss matters of this and that. He simply watched them walk away, dumbfounded at her words.

"Lovely job of it," Raoul said from his side. "I daresay that few people can rile Christine up quite like that."

"Shut up," the Phantom hissed.

The Vicomte's jovial smile straightened into a thin line. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for, wasn't it, even in fun." He turned completely serious, mulling over the situation. "It is odd that Monsieur Daaè would leave his daughter to the opera house and lead her to believe he had died. Then, suddenly, reappear."

"It's more than odd," Erik murmured. "It's…" He sighed, not finding the words he needed to describe it. He glanced out of the corner of his eye to see Madame Giry moving away from the personal scene. He turned back to Raoul. "Is that really her father?"

"I've never seen an other man with his likeness," Raoul admitted softly. "But, I _know_ that he died. I saw Christine the next morning, right before she left for the opera house. I saw the dead body, for heaven's sake, but… I was young. We were only seven, and if her father had meant for us to believe him dead, for any case, he was a decent actor."

"Yes…" he breathed, then turned to leave.

"Where are you going?"

"Home. Since I am obviously not needed here," the Phantom snapped, motioning to where his young wife and her father sat chattering.

* * *

"Now tell me about Erik," Gustave said.

Christine's blue eyes moved to where her husband had been standing. She felt a sadness tug on her heart when she did not see him. "I… Erik is my truest love. I'd really rather not go into how we met. It was rather unconventional, to say the least."

"He looks twice your age."

"A little more," the young diva admitted. "He's… fifty-two now, I believe." A smile crossed her lips and her eyes fluttered closed. "It doesn't matter how old he is or how young I am. It was destined." Her eyes opened a little. "He's my Angel of Music, Papa."

"Why does he wear a mask, my dear?"

Christine froze. "I… I really shouldn't tell you. It's not my place."

"As his wife, it is not your place?"

"You couldn't understand. I don't… sometimes. But I love him despite it. Everyone wears masks of some kind, don't they? His is just… visible. Have you a place to stay?"

"No, but I'll rent an inn room for tonight."

"Nonsense!" Christine gasped. "You should stay with Erik and me."

"I shouldn't want to put you out."

"You wouldn't be," his daughter insistant. "We have an extra room. Oh, you'll love it, Papa!" She hushed her voice. "But you must promise not to speak of our home."

Gustave knit his eyebrows in confusion.

"It's… difficult to explain. Erik likes his privacy, I suppose, is the best way. Come with me. Where are your bags? We'll take them down now."

"Down?"

"Erik is an architect. He helped design and build this place." She motioned to the opera house with on wide sweep of her thin hand. "He built his home below it."

Gustave looked horrified for a moment. "Below an opera house? Like a tomb?"

"No," his daughter whispered. "I thought so at first, but if given the chance it can be the warmest place you've ever seen. It is our home."

"Who… is your husband, Christine?"

"You must promise to get to know him before I answer that. You should make up your own mind. You'll find Erik is a good man. He's had a hard life, to say the least, but he's a good man. I love him, Papa."

Gustave nodded as his daughter stood. They gathered his bags together and began down the hallways.

* * *

The sound of the pipe organ was the first thing Christine heard as she entered the underground home. She motioned for her father to stay in the first room as she moved to where the music emanated from. She found Erik sitting with his fingers dancing their waltz across the keys. He was lost in it.

Christine inched forward and found her hands on his broad shoulders. He leaned back into her touch, falling against her. The music ended as her fingers moved along his shoulders, finding the knots there and working them out through his thin white shirt. "Erik," she breathed into his ear.

"Hmm?"

"If I tell you something, do you promise not be angry?" He mumbled an answer that she didn't grasp, so she took it for a yes and continued. "Papa had no place to stay." Her fingers moved up to his neck, massaging the tension from it. He gave no reaction to her words, but leaned even more into her touch, longing for it. Her right hand around so that it caressed his mask and across his face to cradle his left cheek. "So I asked him to stay here."

Erik pulled away as quickly as he had the day she'd ripped the mask from his face. "You _what_?" he bellowed.

"Hush! Papa is in the other room!"

"You brought him here… You…" He stopped, stood, and began to pace the room, attempting with all of his might not to release his temper on her. It was the last thing he wished to do. She was his beautiful, innocent, perfect Christine. She could do no wrong. Whatever she had done, he had provoked, but how could she have? It was utter betrayal! She'd asked before bringing Little Giry or the Vicomte down. She'd _asked_! Erik had no problem with it if he had forewarning and a say in it.

"Erik…" his wife pleaded, reaching a hand to him.

"Don't," he hissed, eyes wild. "Don't touch me right now, Christine."

She jerked back as if she'd been struck. He'd never denied her touch. Never. Where she should have felt sadness beyond anything else, she felt anger. "Stop it. He is my _father_, Erik! Whom I thought had been dead for years! You couldn't begin to understand the joy I've felt within the past couple of hours! How could you? You who had no one to love you as he loved me!" She watched as all colour drained from his face and she brought a hand to her mouth. "Oh Erik… I'm sorry. That was horrible."

"Yes," he managed, turning his back to her. "Yes it was. He may stay. He already knows the way down here now. Show him to wherever you wish, except here."

Christine nodded wordlessly.

"Now get out. Close the door behind you."

She did so with silent tears streaming down her face. The sound of the organ playing reached all corners of the house and it reminded her of his long –burned _Don Juan Triumphant_. At that moment she knew she'd pushed them into a plunge that neither of them had been ready for.

* * *

A/N: Okay, once again, been watching my DVD (constantly, mind you, lol!) and has anyone but me noticed that when Raoul and Christine are in the chapel together, she's begging him not to make her do what she's about to do and he says "Don't think that I don't care, but every hope lies with you now," or something very close to that. Does anyone else see the MAJOR guilt-trip there? It's like "yeah, darling, I know you don't want to do this but I'm going to make you feel so guilty that you WILL do it" :shakes head: One more reason to love Erik… :adds it to her exceedingly long list:

Jedi of Imladris: I was hoping this would be original. It's one thing I strive for. I mean, there are only so many story lines out there, ne? Hence the reason Hollywood has so many remakes coming out lol!

Migrating Coconuts 06: Sorry! Answers will come soon!

Lost S: I'm going to try to update once a day until then, and then maybe bring a pad of paper to jot down ideas and such with me. I'm going to simply die not being able to write on my computer! An entire WEEK! Hopefully I won't get eaten by a shark and hopefully I will get whisked away by a masked composer… Hmm… :falls back to her own little world:

TerpintineMind: Hehe… polite… Such a fun term with these two. This is the fourth in my series. "Ghosts of the Past", "My Darkest Hour", "Mother's Love", and then this one. In GotP Christine comes back to Erik (after a year) and Raoul and Meg are hinted at in a relationship. It's full blown by MDH. Sorry to confuse you!

I Despise Raoul: Hehe… Have you ever read your ending of "I remain your obedient reviewer, I despise Raoul" out loud in a perfectly serious voice? It's very entertaining. Yeah… maybe not. Lol! I'm glad you got your CD! The movie version or the London cast? I have the highlights from the London cast b/c I can't afford the full blown London one. :melts at the sound of Michael Crawford's voice: That man can literally make me cry with his voice! It's too beautiful…

AliciaRoseM: Haha:hands you an Erik plushy: I really need one of those. Though I fear my roommate for next year would look at me oddly when I showed up with one.

Clever Lass:shrugs: You'll have to wait and see who this man is. Perhaps, just perhaps, it's really Christine's father? I'm glad you like the idea. It struck me rather hard upside the head the other day and began screaming at me to be written. I really should get that checked out… hehe

Potostfbeyeluvr: Both! They're a lovely combination! What does your name mean? It confuses me greatly….


	3. The Angel of Music Sings Songs in my Hea...

**Chapter Three: The Angel of Music Sings Songs in my Head

* * *

**

Christine had finally gotten her father settled into her old bedroom – apologizing the entire way for the feminine look of it – and turned to leave the room.

She padded past the closed door that hid the composer of the dark music that came from the room. Christine found herself in the bedroom she shared with Erik. Alone. Ayesha was her only company. "Even you were shut out, hmm?" the soprano murmured as she stroked the cat. "I suppose he's very angry then."

The cat gave her an odd look, twisting her head and then rubbed up next to her, purring. "Oh? So you like me when there's no one else to pet you. I see how it is." She stroked the cat from head to tale, causing the feline to crawl into her lap and purr louder. "Should I go in there?" Christine asked quietly. The cat in her lap did no answer, merely purred louder and louder until she got the desired amount of petting and moved to the sofa next to the fire.

Christine shook her head with a smile on her lips. "Such a fickle creature," she murmured.

* * *

She wasn't sure what time it was when his voice entered her dreams, but it was there. _In dreams he sang to me…_

Christine woke with a start to see the fire blazing in its place and Erik's silhouette sitting on the sofa there. His face was turned away from her and he was fumbling with something. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and moved soundlessly to him. "Erik?" she breathed. "I was worried that you'd spend the entire night at the organ."

"I was tempted," he murmured, eyes fixed on the object in his hands.

The young woman placed her hands on the back of the sofa, peering over his shoulder. Her eyes caught the glint of a syringe, full of something. She dared not think what. "Erik," she called quietly, causing him to look back at her. Her hand trembled as she reached out and touched his wrist lightly. "You promised that you'd quit."

"I did," her husband said quietly, leaning his head back so that it nearly touched her. Nearly. "I was just wondering if perhaps… I should restart. It did keep my temper so much better."

"Erik!" Christine gasped. "Please, don't say such things! You know what that horrible stuff did to you! You know that it caused the attacks"

"What does it matter, hmm?" he grumbled.

"How can you say that?" his wife sobbed, suddenly clinging to him from behind. The sudden contact caused him to drop the syringe to the floor, the morphine inside splattering as the glass broke. "I would die if anything happened to you."

"I'd never want that," he whispered, his voice breaking with the sudden emotion.

"But it would happen."

"You have someone that would take care of you now. No need for a father figure when you have your father."

"Is that what you think? Erik, sometimes I don't understand where you come up with the ideas in your head, nor do I want to. You are my husband. I love you. I would die if you were not here with me." Her embrace tightened around his shoulders and her lips pressed against his jaw line.

He fell back into her embrace. "I'm… sorry, Christine," he murmured as she continued to kiss him. "It was rather sudden and…"

"You are not the most trusting of people," she finished with a smile. "Yes, I know."

"Then you forgive me?"

"Only if you forgive me for the horrible words I said."

He leaned back so that he was looking into her eyes, reached a long, thin hand back to pull her down to him, and their lips met in a full kiss. There was no need for a verbal response, even when they pulled apart.

Erik smiled at her. "It's late, my love. Perhaps we should be off to bed."

His wife nodded and he led her to the large, fluffy bed that they shared and they sank into each other's embrace.

* * *

Erik woke the next morning with sheets twisted all around him. Christine was by his side, curled in his embrace, and sleeping contently. He smiled down at her, kissing the top of her head.

She stirred and glanced up at him. "Good morning, my angel," she murmured.

"Good morning. I do believe I prefer this against waking at a desk with my work spread about."

Christine giggled and nestled closer. "Do we have to get up today?"

"Your father will begin to wonder what happened."

"Yes… then it wasn't a dream? Thank you, Erik." She propped herself up and kissed the tip of his malformed nose.

"I'm not entirely sure for what, my dear."

She only smiled and hopped up from bed, scurrying for her robe.

* * *

A/N: Ultra short, I know, but they had to make up! I'm on a pressed schedule today with finals and packing and cleaning. It's crazy!

I Despise Raoul: You learn something knew every day, ne? Even when it's that it sounds really funny when you say your name :) Personally, I like Michael Crawford better than Gerard Butler. :hides from rabid Gerry fangirls: Not that I don't like our Scottish phantom! I adore him! He's my second favorite of the Phantoms as of yet. But Michael was the first. Therefore he is the best, in my not so humble opinion.

Migrating Coconuts 06: Sorry! At least there's an update, even if no answers, right?

Lost S: Those men in white coats are so nice, but they tell me that I need to take all kinds of meds, but the padded rooms are nice! Lol… J/k. Anyway, I probably will take the notebook, or use my friend's computer, but there probably won't be email. :sob:

Jedi of Imladris: Well, it makes since they detest each other. I mean, c'mon, Raoul stole Erik's Christine and Erik decided to nearly strangle him (personally I wish he HAD, but hey, that's why I didn't write the play, right?) But in this case Erik's got Christine, Raoul has Meg, and all's right and good. I can't tell you, as much as I'd love to. :tapes her mouth shut:

TS


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four: Wandering Child

* * *

**

"You don't trust me very much, do you?"

Erik had known he was there, but chosen to ignore it. Christine had asked if it might be all right to let her father stay below while she was at rehearsals above. Her husband had grumbled his reply, but had refused to let the man stay alone. The last thing he needed was someone going through his papers, his compositions, his life's work, while he was away.

Now he looked over his shoulder, placing his book in his lap. "I trust very few people very much."

"But you trust my daughter?"

"I love Christine. With love comes trust, yes."

"Might I ask, then, why you were so angry last night?" Gustave moved around so that he could sit in the chair opposite of his son-in-law. His dark eyes were focused and sharp. Almost calculating. It was not what the Phantom would have expected to see from how Christine had described him.

"You may not."

Gustave seemed a bit taken back by this. He hadn't expected the curt answer, nor the fact that the other man went back to his book with full intent to completely ignored him. "It's a beautiful pipe organ you have there. You are a musician as well as an architect?"

"I play." His mismatched eyes focused on the slightly elder man over his book. "And you, sir, will you honour us with your skills as a violinist when Christine returns this afternoon?"

"My skills are rusty."

"Nonsense," the Opera Ghost responded with a wave of his hand. "Surely a life time of work is not to be forgotten in twelve small years."

"I did hope that your sarcasm would be dropped, sir."

"You'll find it rarely is."

The sat there for several long moments, a battle of two very strong wills. Erik stood abruptly, moving toward the door. "What is it that you want here, sir?"

"My daughter. I came to see her, of course."

"Yes, of course. What else?"

"Must there be more?"

"There always is." That said, the Phantom was gone, leaving Gustave Daaè to ponder in silence.

--------------------

"What was her father like?"

Raoul looked startled by the sudden question. "But you've been speaking with him…"

Erik waved him off. "Yes yes, but I mean when you were both children."

"Ah!" the Vicomte responded, eyes focused completely on Meg who was dancing on stage. "Very gentle. Caring. He was quiet and a bit weak willed it always seemed, but it could be the old saying that little girls have their fathers wrapped around their little fingers, isn't that it? Why?"

"No reason."

"If there's one thing I've learned, you always have a reason."

Erik chuckled at this. "Perhaps, but that doesn't matter now. Monsieur Daaè is watching the rehearsal. Make sure that he doesn't go below until I return."

Raoul opened his mouth to respond but found himself alone on the balcony. "Erik?" He looked all around. "Erik?"

* * *

It was snowing. Appropriate. Erik moved around the headstones, fading in and out of the shadows of the graveyard. Finally he came to the one grave he thought he might never come to see again. The cross that stood so far above brought back memories that he would have just as well put aside.

"I wonder," he murmured softly, "if you really do lie in that casket…"

"You really are far to distrusting, Erik."

The Phantom spun, eyes sharp and threatening towards Gustave Daaè. "And you cause it."

"Is that so? I only come for my daughter."

"Somehow I doubt that."

"Then what do I come for? I've heard of you, Monsieur le Phantom. I know you've caused trouble at the opera house for many years. You are not a good match for my sweet Christine."

"Is that so?" Erik murmured thoughtfully. "I'm terribly sorry, but she's all grown up now. I do believe she can make her own decisions about who she might marry and you can do little about it."

Gustave sighed deeply and moved forward, looking up at the cross upon the gravesite. "Quite a scene, isn't it? What is it that makes you think I am not who I say I am? Christine and Raoul recognize me. Shouldn't that be enough?"

"Your hands…" the Phantom murmured.

"Pardon me?"

"They're not the hands of a musician." Erik turned and his keen eyes met Gustave's, the other man's widening in momentary horror.

"What nonsense!"

"Is it? I would bet quite a bit that you've never touched an instrument of the musical nature."

"Would you? Would you bet your marriage on it?"

"I will _not _let you harm her," Erik growled.

"Oh, but it will be you that will hurt her, not I." He pulled the pistol from his pocket faster than Erik would have though he could and had it aimed at the taller man.

"You'll shoot me in cold blood then?"

A small smile crossed his lips. "I was provoked, of course. You attacked me, being the monster you are."

"She won't believe you."

"We shall see about that."

"Monsieur Daaè!"

Both men turned to see Raoul standing several yards away, his blue eyes wide at the scene. He'd been too far to hear, certainly, and Gustave's face took on a look of fright. "My word, Raoul! I thought I'd be done for here."

"What is this?" the aristocrat asked, stunned.

"I came here to see what it was in the graveyard… he came on me. I… What was I to do? Please, talk sense to him!"

Erik's eyes narrowed. "Lies get you nowhere, Monsieur," he responded, voice deep and threatening. He inched forward, boots surprisingly making no sound against the snow covered ground. "You've only proven it to me."

"Not a step closer!"

"Erik, are you mad?" Raoul shouted. "The both of you!"

It was rush of motion, the next half of a moment as the Phantom darted forward, the shot was fired, and a black gloved hand grabbed the man's throat – the other taking hold of his gun hand – and lifted the smaller man from the ground. Gustave struggled, grasping onto Erik's wrist and trying to pry him off.

"I don't take well to being shot at."

"_Erik_!" Christine's voice sounded shrilly through the cold air.

Her husband looked up, fiery eyes dying some at the sound of her frighten scream. "Christine…"

"What are you two doing?" she whispered, tears streaming down her face.

Gustave had realized Erik's wrist as the Phantom had at least set him on the ground so he no longer dangled. "What lies behind…" he mumbled, staring upward and reaching a hand towards him.

It was too late when Erik realized the meaning behind the question and his mask had been pulled from his face. He reeled back, a shout of disbelief erupting from his throat and his hand flying to cover his exposed deformity. Christine's father gasped in horror. "Then it is true! Nothing more than a creature!"

"Papa!" Christine gasped. "Erik? What is going on between you both?"

"He attacked me!" Gustave shouted.

"Erik…" Christine murmured as she reached a hand out to him and he came to her beckoning call. When he stopped before her, her whisper reached his ears. "How could you?"

His eyes widened. "Christine, I didn't…"

"More lies then?" Gustave asked from the side.

"I didn't!" Erik protested. "Christine… I love you. I would never hurt you, nor someone you care about."

"From what I hear that is not true. Hmm, Raoul?" the aging man asked.

The Vicomte looked down, averting his eyes and refusing to answer.

"Very well then," Erik breathed, turning to take his leave. He took one step, stumbled, and found himself pitching forward. Had the bullet hit him? He hadn't even noticed in all of his anger…

* * *

A/N: I live! And write, most importantly! I've been soooo busy this summer, getting ready for college, working, everything. You really must forgive me. But I went to see PotO on stage on Wednesday and fell in love all over again, therefore wrote. Thank you for your patience!

MindReadingCoconuts06: You say I update, then I fall off the face of the earth… lol! I really wasn't trying to prove you wrong, I promise!

I Despise Raoul: Eggs… Hmmm… Lol. No one should tire of a Phantom phase!

The Organic Sith: Made up, fight, get shot… all in a days writing

LostSchizophrenic: I'm back! Ah yes, padded rooms… hmmm…

Elizabeth: Yes, I was so good at updating and then died… It happens. I'm back for a bit :) thank the lovely stage production and my new full length Original Cast CD for it :P

EnchantingAngel: Yes… Poor Christine… and Erik for dealing with her being dumb

Blahblahblah27: I did! Look! Finally!

Danapotter: thanks muchly

Sora: and here is that update you requested :)


	5. I remember

A/N: I think this is a whole new record for me in updating delays. According to my author's notes while going back over the works, I last updated this story before I went to university. I had just seen Phantom of the Opera for the first time on stage and was was madly in love. Some... nearly six years later I have graduated university and am looking forward to seeing the sequel on the London stage (I'm so madly in love with Ramin Karimloo, but sadly he's married with children. Damn my luck.) so I go back, reread my work, and decide that I 'm a terrible author for leaving Erik bleeding in the snow. So, I'm hoping over the next couple of days to at least wrap this story up so that I don't feel so bad. =P

* * *

**Chapter Five: I Remember**

He remembered cold. He remembered cold and anger and then…. Fear. Fear and pain, but he couldn't remember why. The cold was from the snow that he'd seen. It had made a descent enough cover for his short journey to the graveyard with his cloak pulled closely to his face and the mask barely visible to any passerbyer that was as crazy as he was to be out in the weather.

Anger. He wasn't the only one out in that weather, after all. There were many things that Erik was sure of in life, as he'd seen more than he would have wished to, but one of those things was certainly not why he had a tendency to find trouble, even when he attempted to avoid it. He had come to the graveyard for answers and had been met with a gun directed towards him by a man wearing his wife's father's face. He remembered the anger boiling up within him at the idea that a man would ever deceive his wife. Do what they will to him, but never to Christine.

Fear… Why had he been afraid? Many weapons had been pointed in his direction over the years of his life. What was it about the small pistol waved at him by an obviously untrained hand that would have sent chills through his lean frame? No, not the gun. The gun didn't frighten him at all. It was those beautiful blue eyes tearing up against the cold bursts of wind. Confusion and pain radiated off of the young soprano and Erik felt fear when she believed the intruder and not her husband. It was the fear that gnawed at the back of his mind every day since she had confessed her love for him. That fear that it was too good and that he had never deserved her to begin with.

The pain had come later, and he remembered it now as it bit through the numbness that had taken over. He was still cold and he realized that he was lying in the snow. Had they left him there to die like a dog in the streets? While a more rational mind would have informed him that, no matter how angry she might have been, that action had no place with his Christine. But his mind was not working in a rational manner as pain mixed with cold and fear. The anger was not gone, but it certainly took a backseat to the rest.

"I don't understand."

Erik forced his sensitive ears to focus in on the owner of the voice that seemed no more than a whisper against the winds that were howling around them. Christine. At least she was there. She was still speaking, but all of his energy was now going towards opening his eyes and seeing her instead of listening. It was one or the other, he realized.

Finally two mismatched eyes managed to open, lulling heavily as they did so. Christine came into focus first, thankfully, her hair tangled by the elements and she leaned towards him, fear and confusion evident across her pale face. Raoul spoke off to the side of a carriage that they had taken to find the two men and Erik felt the world shift dangerously as the Vicomte took hold of his shoulders to lift as gently as he could.

"…home…" he heard Christine say. He thought he heard it, though, and couldn't be sure. He wasn't sure at this point if the white that obstructed his vision was snow or flashes of pain.

"Christine?" Erik managed, his voice sounding strange and foreign to his own ears.

"Yes, Erik?" she answered him into his ear. He could feel her smooth hand against his face and could make out her face, finally, as she leaned so that their noses nearly touched.

There was so much he needed to say. He needed to warn her of the intruder, but he didn't know how to prove it yet. He didn't have the breath in his lungs to walk her through what he had scene. Perhaps, soon, if he were able to get the attention he needed, but in the place that he lay he could not. He needed to tell her that he had not attacked the man that was posing as her father. He would never, even though he knew him to be a fake, intend to harm him without threat on his own person. That was the only reason he had lashed out. All this and more needed to be said, but there just wasn't time.

"I love you," he managed, groping painfully for her hand. He didn't find it immediately and he felt himself falling back into darkness, no reply leaving her lips.

* * *

Christine sank tiredly back onto the sofa in the room that she shared with Erik. He was settled and she fretted horribly over the decision that she had made to avoid a doctor. She'd always know him to be adamantly against any physicians help, never finding them to have any ability to help him heal any faster than his own body did on its own.

"He'll be all right," Raoul said quietly from the door.

Christine looked towards him as if to ask how he could be so sure. She did not know what to believe at that point. There were more questions than answers, and it seemed as if that was becoming increasingly more and more true. Her father had slipped off silently and somewhat secretively after the rehearsal and Raoul had been interested in following him. Christine had all but demanded that she be taken along – not knowing where Erik had disappeared to – and now the two childhood friends wondered just what was happening.

"What would he have had a pistol for to begin with?" Christine whispered as she pulled her knees up to her chest, nestling back into the pillows.

Raoul moved further into the room, looking uncomfortable in the couple's inner space, but not willing to let their conversation wake the sleeping phantom. "There are many unanswered questions. Too many," he murmured thoughtfully. "Christine, I know that this sounds mad, but-"

"Not you too!" Christine hissed. "Erik is convinced that he is a fraud, but you, Raoul! You! You _knew_ him!"

"Christine, we were children," he urged in hushed tones. He glanced back to the bedroom door where the man that they argued about sat just beyond and he lowered his voice even more. "It has been years and there are so many questions that you haven't even asked. You can't ignore how strange it is, Christine. He shows up, out of nowhere, with no explanation and…" He sighed, noting her increasingly irritated expression. "I know you want it to be true. I know you do, but something is wrong with all of this."

"Then what, Raoul? What does he want if he's not really my father?"

"I don't know." The Vicomte sighed, glancing towards his friend's injured husband. "I do know a few things. Firstly is that your father would never do anything that would cause you pain. Secondly is that the man that you love is lying there, injured because of him." He let the words sink in as he stood, shrugging his shoulders slightly. "I suppose everything else will come in time, won't it?"

Christine sat in silence as he moved to give her time alone with Erik, his words echoing in her mind as her eyes lingered on the door. It didn't seem right that she had to choose between two of the most important men that had ever crossed her path, but she felt compelled to.

Erik shifted in the bed, startling her and she found herself in a place to choose.

* * *

Strange how times changed, Raoul mused to himself as he crossed the threshold of Christine and Erik's bedroom into the main room. He had stood before his childhood love and defended the man she had chosen over him. He wasn't sure beyond all doubt that Erik's temper wouldn't win over sense if Gustave had goaded him, but he would bet against it if he were a betting man. The infamous Phantom had lost much of his sharpness since his marriage and gave few reasons to worry.

The man that had become a recurring question looked up from his place where he seemed to be steadily guarded by Madame Giry and her pretty daughter. Meg crossed the distance immediately and took Raoul's arm, her opinion in the matter very obvious even if not spoken. "How is he?"

"Better, I think," Raoul answered and put his arm around her. He then turned his attention to Gustave. "Monsieur," he said slowly, almost unsteadily, as if he were unsure he even wished to use that form of formality with him.

"Raoul, you must understand-"

"Yes, I must," the Vicomte cut him off. "I must understand what is happening, because you have managed within only hours to set yourself quite firmly between a couple that would die for one another."

"My daughter-"

"Is she?" the younger man asked, feeling the blonde at his arm tighten her hold in apprehension. The girl's mother looked on steadily, urging him silently to speak his mind without fear. "Is she really your daughter, because, the man that I knew as Christine's father would never cause harm to anyone, muchless someone that she loves."

"What are you saying?"

"My question, Monsieur, is what is it that you want with Christine? You've come with no explanation and surprisingly no demands, but still you are here causing trouble, as we have not seen in years. I believe that deserves some sort of explanation."

Gustave straightened at this, realizing that now the hostility did not simply come from the two women in the room, but was shared by their wealthy companion. "I believe that I owe you nothing," he said as if he were carefully weighing each word that left his mouth.

"You may owe us nothing," Meg spoke for the first time directly to him, "but you owe it to Christine."

* * *

It was warmer than it had been last he remembered. He wasn't entirely sure if he had been moved or had simply drifted into such a state of shock that it felt warm and comfortable.

Moments ticked by and Erik could feel satin sheets beneath bare fingers. His gloves had been pulled from his thin hands and he lay on his back in what felt like the bed he shared with his wife. The hope that it had all been some horrible play of the mind was put away very quickly as he shifted and felt renewed pain. The bullet had passed through him in between his ribs, surely leaving two new scars to the multitude of others that littered his body.

Panic began to bubble within him when he realized that Christine was not in the bed with him, nor was she in his line of vision. He felt quite alone in his place and a groan left his lips when he tried to shift to gain a better view.

"Shh," a pretty voice met his ears and his Christine moved into his view. She leaned down and kissed his forehead, a salty tear slipping down her cheek as she did so. "Don't move too much."

"What…?"

"I don't know," she almost snapped. "I just don't know." She looked as if she were working herself into a near frenzy of irritation with the idea of working through the questions that had been asked of her. She took an unsteady breath, trying to calm herself as Erik reached a shaky hand for hers and took hold of it. "What happened, my love?"

Erik felt Christine accept his hand and it seemed to ease his mind. "My dear, I fear I have nothing for you other than what I've seen, and you seem to have your mind quite made up."

"So easily swayed, you mean."

"That's not what I said."

"Christine!"

Both Phantom and singer jumped at Meg's voice. The blonde appeared at the door, eyes wide. "He's gone!"

* * *

A/N: I wonder how much my writing has changed in the last six years... This is why I don't normally go back and pick up stories after such a long interlude. Ah well, needs to be done every once and a while.


	6. And Then My World Was Shattered

A/N: So, this is not six years later. this is progress. I hope to wrap this up in an epilogue, but I can't promise it all too soon. Prayers were answered today in the form of a job, but that also means my time has been cut down dramatically. Ergo I thought it best to write this tonight. I have an other PotO story playing in my head that I feel I should write before going to see Love Never Dies. I'm sure seeing it will have an effect on how I write the characters, and I've managed to turn Raoul around in these stories (a feat in my own mind, I assure you!).

* * *

**Chapter Six: And Then My World Was Shattered**

"Raoul took off after him down the corridor," the ballerina said as she pointed, eyes wide with knowledge of some of the things that might await both of them if Gustave took a wrong turn in Erik's protective labyrinth.

"Why would he leave like that?" Christine asked, the uneasiness multiplying within her.

"In my experience," her husband said in a strained voice as he lifted himself upright and threw his feet over the side of the bed, "people run when they have something that they wish to hide."

"Erik!" Christine nearly wailed, hands against his bony shoulders almost immediately, trying to gently push him down to the bed once more. "Please."

"There's no time to argue over this," he said breathlessly. "Good heavens, Christine, do you want them both dead?"

She shook her head. Tears stood in her eyes, yet she refused to shed them as she helped the phantom to his feet. If nothing else she could help support him. It was the only bit of use she seemed to be able to find for herself in the whole mess.

"Which way?" Erik growled out and Meg pointed.

There were many ways to reach the underground house. The most direct was the gate to the gondola that he and Christine regularly used to move between the two worlds. Most of the ways that appeared easier were an illusion set by the one that had often been called the greatest magician. Corridors led to corridors that led to death. Mirrors that encased the poor wanderer killed them in the horrifying manner that Erik had perfected in his time in Persia. A few of the apparent exits from the underground house only took a person to the same fate.

Answers were rarely found on a dead man's lips.

"Stay here," Erik rasped, carefully pulling himself from his wife's steadying hold.

"You're not going alone."

"You're not coming."

Iron wills battled for several long moments as blue eyes steadily held a pair of mismatched ones. Neither party seemed ready to back down, and time was steadily ticking by.

"My dear, I can't watch out for you too, and please. No. No Christine." He held up his hands as to silence her. "If you want them both to come back alive then I must go alone."

"I can't lose you all," she cried suddenly. "I can't lose any of you."

"I'll bring them back to you," her husband swore.

"And you?"

"I will be with you as long as you allow it."

She nodded at this and sank to the ground as she watched him go. He had an uncanny ability to put pain away when it suited him, but even he could not will his way through the blood loss that the bullet had caused or the pressure that he was putting himself through.

"He'll come back to you," Meg murmured quietly as she knelt by her friend, hands shaking on her shoulders.

"I'm afraid," the diva whispered, voice shaking. "I've always been so afraid that one day he would simply never return. I can't bear the thought. I…" She stopped, hands clutched tightly to her chest as she stifled a sob, knowing full well that he might hear its echo down the way.

* * *

As a rule, Raoul often avoided the darker emotions that one often finds stirring in their soul. For the most part he hated no one, stayed angry with few, and became irritable only on rare occasions. His reaction to Erik and Christine's love affair had been one of the few times in his young life that he had been angry enough to fight for something. Christine had always brought out the rashest side of him.

That realization made itself known as he thought about just what he was doing. Erik had warned him – more times than he cared to remember – just how dangerous the fifth cellar was. It had been created in such a way that intruders would not be tolerated and if he wished to visit – something that the phantom had never been overly comfortable with, yet allowed because he indulged his wife without question – the Vicomte should always ring the bell and wait to be escorted. Always an escort. In or out. That was the strictest rule of visiting the Phantom of the Opera and his wife. Anything other rout not shown to him by Erik himself would, without a doubt, prove deadly.

A sense of dread weighed heavily in the young aristocrats stomach. In his haste to chase after the imposter and play hero once again he had done just what Erik had urged him to avoid at all cost. He had run down one of the unexplored hallways that surely led to more dangerous areas that he had had only the smallest experiences with in comparison.

Gustave gave a cry of panic just ahead and Raoul crashed into him. The two men tumbled down a slope, landing at the edge of the underground lake. They were all tangled limbs and wild blows that landed in different directions and never quite did any good for either of them. Finally, the aristocrat landed one blow that knocked the man back and he fell heavily against the ground.

A menacing figure loomed over him, causing him to lie very still as if he were nailed to the cold ground by fear.

That voice! Though it sounded like the Erik he had met – the Erik he had nearly killed – something was entirely off with it. The way that it echoed, filling the entire chamber was other-worldly and every tone commanded the aging man's complete respect. He found himself trembling with each word that left the phantom's twisted lips.

"You come to my home. You mislead my wife. You attack me and those that are welcome in my home." He leaned closer, all signs of weakness fully washed away as one hand gripped tightly at the other's shirt and hauled him up to his feet. "Who are you?"

The man was now shaking so badly that he could not answer.

"I may have an answer for you," a new voice echoed – though a much smaller echo than Erik's own – through the area. Nadir approached, having his own bits of unique knowledge of his old friend's maze and ways. In the former police man's hand was his little notebook and he squinted against the darkness for the letters scribbled there. "Damn your love of the dark, Erik," he grumbled lowly. "I can barely read what I wrote not three hours back."

"Perhaps you'd do better to commit it to memory," the Phantom hissed.

Nadir sighed. "You ask for favors and this is the thanks I receive when I come through for you." He waited until Erik waved, signaling him on. "Jacques Desmarais: con-man by trade and my sources tell me – I assure you they are reliable – that he stumbled across a rumor of Christine's marriage to, and I quote 'a man of some means at the opera house that could turn up a nice prophet should a reason be given.'" Dark eyes focused on Erik to make sure that the younger man's temper did not gain full control and send Monsieur Desmarais to his ultimate death a few yards ahead via one of the unseen and hidden traps.

"I heard old Gustave Daae play when I was younger," the man in the Phantom's grasp managed, looking perfectly frightened by now. "I just thought… Just thought I'd give the girl something she missed-"

"Do not lie to me," Erik growled, voice seeming to come from every direction and barreling down on the man.

"I'm sorry! I'll leave! Please let me leave! I'll never come back, I swear it!"

"You've caused her more pain than can ever be forgiven and you know far too much."

"I won't tell a soul!"

"I don't believe you."

"Erik," Nadir said calmly. "He has quite a few warrants out in various places. Perhaps should he appear on the doorstep of someone that might do something about it he would never see the light of day again, from what I hear. There's no need to go back on your promise."

Erik frowned. "Damn your promise."

"But what of the likeness?" Raoul, mostly forgotten to the side, asked.

The con-man shrugged his shoulders as best he could with the way that he was being held. "Couple o' blokes have the same face."

"And so you thought that justification enough to come to us and deceive us all?"

All eyes turned to see Christine in all of her willful disobedience. Her skirts were muddied and her hair in disarray, but she stood straight and tall, shoulders back and looked a formidable opponent that day. "How dare you take my father's face, his name, and the trust the he earned from me? Nadir, can you do what you say?"

"I can, Madame," the Persian assured her.

"Then do it. I don't ever want to see him here again."

She held her tears long enough for Nadir and Erik to speak in low tones and for the Persian to take the trembling con-man away. It wasn't until Erik reached his hand to her and she felt herself drawn to him that they blurred her vision. She grasped his bare hand with all the emotion that she felt and he pulled her to him with the last of his strength and they sank to the cold ground together, her cries now the only sound echoing through the underground chambers.

* * *

A/N: Something I dislike of picking up stories years after they start: I have to write within constraints that I put on the story too many years ago. I'm not a fan of that. Meh... I'm not overly happy with this chapter, but you, the reader, are the real judge. Finishing this is the main priority here, with some semblance of plot. =P


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